


Lost

by Arcwin



Series: Nodus Tollens [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blood and Violence, Depression, Everything Hurts, Fix-It of Sorts, Hospitalization, Hurt John Watson, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, John is a Mess, Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining Sherlock, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Psychosis, Scared Mycroft, Scared Sherlock, Series, Slow Burn, Therapy, dark!fic, eventual happy ending at the end of the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-02 14:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 10,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12728058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcwin/pseuds/Arcwin
Summary: Set post The Reichenbach Fall, with some references to earlier parts in the series and fix-its.This is how Sherlock and John coped with their separation and the trauma of The Reichenbach Fall, told mostly through letters.HEAVY Angst, implied/referenced drug and alcohol abuse, lots of cursing, mental health issues, etc. You've been warned. This isnota happy fic (until the very end of the series, most likely).Note--Dates are set in this format: day month year.PLEASE READ THE TAGSbefore reading this fic. Thank you. Would hate to trigger anyone!





	1. Dear Sherlock: 3/10/11

3 October 2011

Dear Sherlock,

I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to say. Don’t think I even have something to say. What’s the point of this? It’s ridiculous. I don’t understand. In fact, it seems like I don’t understand anything these days. How could I? My entire world has been lost.

No, not lost. _Died_. My entire world has _died_.

Ella would probably say that’s a fucking metaphor. Because in reality, the only thing in my world that’s died is _you_ , Sherlock.

You died.

Fuck.

She told me today that I had unsaid things--she tried to make me say them out loud. _To her_. Why the fuck would I say it to her? I couldn’t even say it to you, and it was _about_ you. So why would she think I could...why would she think I’d even want to say it to her? Maybe she’s the one who should be in therapy, not me. I’m fine. Totally fine, yeah.

This is a waste of time. You’re dead.

\--JHW


	2. Dear Sherlock: 10/10/11

10 October 2011

Dear Sherlock,

Saw Ella again today. She asked me how the last letter went. I lied. Told her it was good. Don’t need to do any more, thank you. Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.

She knew I was lying. Therapists are so fucking annoying. Can’t keep anything from them. She wants me to write you once a week. Seriously!? As if I have that much to say to my dead best friend. At least she isn’t asking to read them. That would be the end of it.

This is still a waste of time. I think about you all the time anyway--why do I need to write to you too? Is that supposed to bring you back? Make me get some kind of fucking closure or some shite like that? Bloody hell. There is nothing that will help me get over this. **There** **IS NO getting over this**. I watched you kill yourself. What the fuck, Sherlock?! Why did you do that to me!?

And do you honestly think I believed that load of bollocks you fed me about being a fraud? Well, suppose you don’t think it now, being dead and all. I can’t...I just _can’t_.

God this is…

Why am I doing this?

I hate her for making me do this.

And...I hate _you_ for doing this to me.

_I hate you._

-JHW

 

P.S. Sending these to Baker St. I know you’re not there. I just can’t keep them here with me. I keep re-reading them and twisting the fucking knife in my heart. I called Mrs. Hudson and told her not to open them. Who knows what she’s doing with them. Burning them, hopefully. _Fuck._


	3. Dear John: 15/11/11

15 November 2011

Dear John,

I need to you tell you this. I need to get it down on paper, try to explain how I feel. Bit of a nontraditional start for a letter, I know, but...I need to.

It feels like every cell in my body is full to capacity, straining against its confines, ready to burst. My muscles are trembling from the amount of tension, shaking, even. I’m grasping at everything--my clothes, my hair, my skin--anything I can grab I attempt to gain purchase on. My fingers are digging, nails sharp and nearly cutting--the pain is grounding and terrifying. I feel so intensely out of control--my body moves of its own accord as I scramble to come back from the precipice of such intensity. My emotions are impossible to name--they are swirling, twisting, melding together in an ugly and overwhelming mass. I feel like my soul is shattering in slow motion, pieces flying silently away from me in every direction. **I am lost.**

 _‘You’re never lost, Sherlock_ ,’ you say kindly in my mind palace, surprise on your face. It’s so comforting, knowing I can call on my version of you whenever I need it. It gives me hope.

I am always lost, John. I have _always_ been lost. I was starting to find myself, you know...with you. I’m just an expert at hiding how lost I feel, behind my witty deductions and sarcasm. You should know that. You know me best, after all. _Knew_ me best, that is.

I can see you smile at me. _‘I still know you, even though…’_

Even though I’m dead to you.

_‘Yeah, of course. I still know you best.’_

I hope that’s enough for you to forgive me for what I’ve done to you. The pain in your voice, the hurt, the disbelief and shock...it was torture to listen to. It ripped my heart into shreds. I would rather actually die than hear you sound like that ever again.

I hate myself for that. Hate myself so much for causing you such immense and intolerable suffering. For traumatizing you all over again. I _hate_ it.

I hope you can forgive me. I will never forgive myself for this horrific yet necessary act of betrayal. I betrayed your trust, your faith in me. I am so very sorry for that.

Mycroft doesn’t want me contacting you, but I needed to do this. I’ve been working undercover for four months now, tracking Moriarty’s network. Mycroft thinks I need to distance myself from you--from what I’ve done to you. From what you mean to me. _‘Caring is not an advantage,’_ he reminds me on a regular basis. In a way, I suppose he’s right--if I didn’t care I wouldn’t be wracked with guilt, wouldn’t feel so out of control of my emotions that I escape to the nearest crack or heroin den I can locate as soon as I’m out of his view. I know you’ll be disappointed to read that. It’s not all the time, I assure you. Just when I need it the most--when I can’t stand it anymore.

I do care about you, though. Guess I’m at a disadvantage. I don’t mind it. It’s worth it. _You’re_ worth it.

This letter...it’s my little act of defiance. Maybe one day you’ll read it. I will write more, if I can. I feel the need to explain myself, to say the things I should have said a long time ago. I don’t know what will happen to me--this may be all I accomplish before I die at the hands of one of Moriarty’s colleagues. If this is all I ever write to you, please know this: I am sorry, and _I love you, John Watson_.

Always,

Sherlock


	4. Dear Sherlock "Dickhead" Holmes: 20/11/11

20 November 2011

Dear Sherlock “Dickhead” Holmes,

Who do you think you are? DEAD--that’s who you are.

Stopped writing--Ella knew. PISS OFF ELLA! I don’t  **want** to! It’s STUPID! He’s  **DEAD!**

Why...you killed me. With you. You killed you and it killed me and now you’re dead and that sucks.

I’ve been drinking. Like Harry. Fuck, like  _ Harry. _ Did I die and now I’m Harry? Don’t care. Nope. You killed me--this is your fault anyway that I’m Harry now.

Now you won’t want me, right? Girlfriends--not really your area. Nothing is your area--you’re dead and I’m dead and Harry and

More. Time to get more. Bye  ~~ Sher ~~ Dickhead

~~ JHW ~~ HW


	5. Dear John: 3/12/11

3 December 2011

Dear John,

I can’t carry these letters around with me, _obviously_. Too dangerous for the both of us. If I’m captured, and there are letters on me declaring my love for you, they’ll come after you, assuredly. It would undo everything I was trying to accomplish when I faked my death. You wouldn’t be protected anymore, and life would be pointless if something ever happened to you. I couldn’t bear it.

To prevent that, I was able to use some of my homeless network to open a post office box in your name in Brixton, Lauriston Gardens. The location of our first case, do you remember? The pink lady. You must have thought I was a lunatic (rightfully so) on that case. I was trying so hard to impress you--to show off. I was drawn to you immediately; did you notice? The moment you walked into the lab I had a hard time keeping my eyes off you. You intrigued me from the start. So many contradictions in one man. I loved it. A _puzzle_. At first, that’s what you were. I obsessed over it, over you. Through my obsession, you became more to me. Every time I felt like I failed you, and you stayed...you became so much more. I couldn’t believe you killed the cabbie to protect me--it was extraordinary. I wanted to kiss you in the cab afterwards, while we went to get Chinese. I wanted to tell you how impressed I was. Tell you how amazing you were and show you my gratitude in so many ways.

 _I should have_.

I regret my inaction in that moment. I think you felt it, felt the electricity and pull between us. You kept glancing over at me, licking your lips. It felt like an invitation, and I, like the pathetic idiot I am, didn’t take you up on it. I hated myself that night, lying alone in my bed and wishing you were next to me, touching me, kissing me.

_I wanted you so badly._

_I_ **_still_ ** _want you so badly_.

That’s the point of these letters, I suppose. Not just to explain myself, but to show you how important you are to me. It feels so right, telling you about it. Even though I know you won’t read these just yet...I feel connected to you now as I write. If I die, you’ll find out about them. If I don’t...I’ll tell you in person when I return to London...or wherever you are at that point. I should have told you from the beginning. I’m sorry.

I’m currently a stowaway on a train, traveling through some remote area of China. Soon it will arrive and I’ll have to sneak off to the safehouse Mycroft arranged. I wish you were with me. I was so infuriated with Mycroft when he refused to let me bring you along. _‘It will compromise you, little brother,’_ he said. I hate him, sometimes. Especially when he's right.

There’s the train whistle. Time to go. I’ll write again as soon as I can.

I love you, John.

Always,

Sherlock


	6. Dear Sherlock: 4/12/11

4/12/11

Dear Sherlock,

What am I supposed to do now? No one seems to be able to tell me what the  _ fuck _ I am supposed to do with myself. Everyone keeps saying it’s going to get better with time. Load of bullocks, that is.

Tried going back to the surgery.  _ Waste of time. _ Sarah could see it on my face immediately. Told me to go home. As if that’s going to help at all. Doesn’t matter where I am--don’t have a purpose ~~,~~ ~~ and can’t stop thinking about you. ~~

God I sound like a fucking whinging bastard.  _ Oh, Sherlock, my life doesn’t have meaning without you! _ Pathetic.

**I hate you so much.** ~~Why did you do this to~~   Why did you do this? ~~You’re not a fr~~

Ella’s goal must be to get me pissed. 

It’s working. Well done you, Ella.

\--JHW


	7. Dear John: 15/1/12

15 January 2012

Dear John,

I miss London. I miss how busy it is. I can’t disclose where I am right now, but it is completely dull compared with London. Well, criminal network aside, that is.

I miss the lights. I miss the cabs. I miss the skyline. I miss the Thames. I miss the chinese place near Baker Street. (Why can't I remember the name of that place? We ~~eat there~~ ate there all the time. You know the place.)

I miss Baker Street itself, and our flat. I miss Mrs. Hudson, forever making us tea and tidying up yet complaining and telling us she isn’t our housekeeper (even though we both know she basically is).

Of course, you must know this by now, but what I miss most of all is _you_. I miss our quiet mornings with tea and the paper and no case. I miss your complaints about my experiments. I miss your eyes when I walk into the room. I miss how you flex your toes while you work on your blog. I miss how your lips purse when you’re thinking. I miss the way you hum whenever you don’t know what to say, or do know what to say, or don’t have anything to say and know that’s fine. It’s fine. All of it. It’s always fine. _I miss you so much._

We spent every day together for two years and now I haven’t even _talked_ with you in months, and it is killing me. Mycroft refuses to give me updates on you, except to say that you’re alive. Obviously this means that something is wrong. You’re not okay. He won’t tell me because he knows it will devastate me to know that you aren’t okay. Of course, I should have expected that you would not be okay, considering. Considering.

Do you love me the way I love you? I know you care for me, but...love. Not just love. Are you _in_ _love_ with me the way that I’m in love with you?

**I’m in love with you.**

I think I’ve always been in love with you. Is it possible to be in love with someone before you know them? Illogical, I know. How could I be in love with you without knowing you at all? Without knowing you exist? Impossible. Yet...I think I always knew I was waiting for you, somewhere deep inside my bones. My life was a series of confusing and disappointing interactions with _others_ , and then you arrived. I’ve spent the last 2 years trying to figure out what changed about me, why I suddenly felt so much more grounded and like life is... _worth_ something. I didn’t change--you just happen to be near me now. You are in my life, and that means _I have a life_. For you. With you.

Sentiment. Caring. Connection. Previously these concepts weren’t necessary. I avoided them, feared them. Not anymore. I _need_ these with you.

I miss you so much. I hope to come home soon and tell you these things in person. I should have done it long ago.

Always,

Sherlock


	8. My Dearest John: 17/1/12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNING.**  
>  PLEASE READ THE TAGS FOR THIS FIC IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY BEFORE READING THIS CHAPTER.
> 
> Thank you <3

17 January 2012

My Dearest John,

I don't think I can do this anymore, John. I--is this really worth it? Us being apart, you thinking I'm...that I… John, this is killing me. And...and Molly told me what you ~~did~~ what you tried to

~~John I~~

I’m grateful for Molly. She is a true friend. She knew I would need to know about this. ~~Why would you~~ No, no I’m not blaming you. I would never blame you. I just don’t understand. I thought that if I kept it a secret, kept you in the dark about it that you would be...well not okay, but not _this_. Not so upset that you would try to

I can’t even write it. I can’t even think right now. Mycroft was wrong. He was so very wrong. God I could just kill him for this! What was he thinking?! He should have kept a better eye on you, should have told me or...I don't know, but he is so self centered and shortsighted and utterly abhorrent! He--he clearly doesn't care about me or you. Just cares about

**I hate him.**

He thought I should keep it from you. I guess I just agreed because it was the path of least resistance and he seems to have this power over me sometimes, especially when I feel ~~emotio~~ unsure of myself. We knew that Moriarty would go after you if there was any hint of me being alive still, if you even so much as blinked differently or went a different route on your way home, and I just trusted him that you would be better off not knowing what was going on. Why did I trust him?! He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t even know me (although he likes to think he does.) He doesn’t understand how much I care for you ~~and how much you care for~~

~~Do you care for~~

~~I never even~~

I can’t. ~~I just~~

He’s wrong. I should have listened to myself. I had second thoughts. You need me, and I need you. We aren’t supposed to be apart like this. We aren’t supposed to be anything but...but just us. The two of us, together, against the rest of the world. Always together. He was wrong. ~~He was so~~

~~God why didn’t I~~

I need you.

Please, just...please don’t

Just stay alive for me John. Please. I’m coming home as soon as I can. I won’t ever make this mistake again. I am going to come home and I’m going to tell you exactly what I feel and think and even if you don’t want me, at least...at least I told you. I never want you to feel this way. God, John. Stay alive for me. Please. Please. **_Please._**

Always...and forever. **Forever** , John.

Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **hides**  
> Sorry. This was a bit rough. :X


	9. Dear Ms. Hooper: 17/1/12

17 January 2012

TO:

Molly Hooper

℅ St Bartholomew Hospital

W Smithfield, London EC1A 7BE, UK

 

RE: Refund Request 0331-1964

 

Dear Ms. Hooper,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to inform you that we have received your request for a refund and are currently processing it. Unfortunately due to the sensitive nature of this request, it must be approved by a supervisor and pass our quality assurance checks. I appreciate your patience in the matter.

To expedite this process, any further information you have regarding the malfunction you’ve reported would be helpful. If you are able, please respond with a **detailed description of the time, date, and nature of the malfunction** so we may process your refund.

As always, thank you for doing business with us. We look forward to hearing from you.

 

Regards,

Bill Scott

Customer Relations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "William Sherlock Scott Holmes"  
> Undercover work requires concealment, naturally.


	10. To Mike Cibus: 17-20/1/12

17 January 2012

To: Mike Cibus

You know what I require. I expect it within 24 hours.

Bill Scott

* * *

17 January 2012

My _sweet_ Billy,

Unfortunately I am unable to comply with your request. I recommend you practice patience.

Sincerely,

M.

P.S. I appreciate your little joke; however, you have misspelled my surname.

* * *

17 January 2012

Mike--

I am more than happy to resort to violence. 16 hours.

Bill Scott

* * *

18 January 2012

Oh, my Billy,

There are moving parts that you are unaware of. Again, patience. I’m disappointed you would descend to aggression so easily. I recognize your... _attachment_ to what has occurred, however now is **not** the time for sentiment.

M.

* * *

18 January 2012

Mikey--

You seem to underestimate the importance of this matter to me. You know what I am capable of. Are you sure you want to test me? I am _ready_ , and yet you refuse to act. Jealousy, perhaps? _So very telling._ Were you disappointed when news arrived that he had failed? Success would have meant one less contender. One less complication. One less potential distraction from _the work_. This is clearly _your fault_ and I expect your assistance in remedying it.

I am certain you can manage without me for a week, _big Mikey_. **Let me do this** if you want to retain any semblance of acquaintance with me.

Bill Scott

* * *

20 January 2012

Mike--

You will regret this. **_I don’t need you._ ** I will handle it myself.

B.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cibus = "food" in Latin


	11. Ms Hooper: 20/1/12

20 January 2012

TO:

Molly Hooper

℅ St Bartholomew Hospital

W Smithfield, London EC1A 7BE, UK

 

RE: Refund Request 0331-1964

 

Ms. Hooper,

Photos, please. Show me the damage. I need to see.

I am circumventing my supervisor on this particular request. I appreciate your understanding and cooperation.

As always, thank you for doing business with us. We look forward to hearing from you.

 

Regards,

Bill Scott

Customer Relations

* * *

23 January 2012

Mr. Scott,

I must say I am concerned about your apparent lack of care with the current situation. I have intercepted and reviewed the evidence you requested. At this time, I do not think it is wise for you to see it. Ms. Hooper has been instructed to contact me for all further matters. I advise against doing anything at this time until we have further information regarding the malfunction and can make an appropriate determination regarding the validity and severity of the claim. I am sure you understand.

As ever, I will assist as needs must.

Sincerely,

M.

* * *

23 January 2012

Dear Bill,

I am sorry. I wish I could help further right now. I was told to contact your supervisor after...well, I tried to send the information you requested. The pictures. But...I guess they didn’t make it to you. I decided to try sending this too, hoping it might...I don’t know. Hoping it might help, I suppose.

What I _can_ say is this: the malfunction started immediately following the _expiration of the_ _warranty_. You know what I mean. Over time, it got worse and worse, and I think that maybe some alcohol was involved. Then, it seemed like everything was suddenly much better, but I felt uneasy about it. That’s why I checked again, even though...even though I was told to go away. To ignore it, that is. Thankfully, I was able to intervene and get some help immediately once I realized that it was much worse than anyone thought. I stopped it from becoming...well, you know. **Permanent.**

The return is greatly needed, although right now I don’t know how much it would help. There has been a lot of damage. A lot, Bill. It may not even be completely fix-able. I know your supervisor doesn’t want you to help, doesn’t want you to do the return, but...it might be the only thing that saves it all. Just...be careful, okay? No one needs you getting into trouble. Wouldn’t want you to lose your _job_ or anything awful like that.

If I can help, I will, although your supervisor may try to stop me. Bastard.

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Molly Hooper


	12. Dear John: 25/1/12

25 January 2012

Dear John,

Mycroft is attempting to stop me from coming home. If I wasn’t so enraged I would laugh at how utterly ridiculous that is. I’ve received additional details about what happened and...I--I just...

I feel thick. Not--not like dull or dim-witted, thick like…

Words that are meant for emotion escape me often. I hate how something that comes so easily to everyone else on this wretched planet seems to stick in a spot I can’t reach, deep within me. I retreat to the self-assigned label of sociopath but it’s merely a mask, a wall I’ve built around myself. A fortress to hide within instead of being honest with myself and vulnerable with others. Vulnerability…

I’m intellectualizing. **Again**. Retreating. _Thick_. My thoughts are _thick_ , my very blood is _thick_. It’s _disgusting_. I feel useless, sapped, lethargic with all this _thickness_ within me. It’s weighing me down, slowing my thoughts, tethering me to reality though I fight so desperately to dissociate. To flee this sickening emotion. To avoid this pain.

The air drowns me, filling my nostrils and mouth with ice and threatening to suffocate me. I’m drifting, weightless, and yet...and yet _thick_ and _heavy_ and _horribly still_. **_Life feels still._ ** It doesn’t move the way it does when we’re together--it resembles stop motion animation, jolting briefly through unconvincing moments in an eerie dance that feels disconcerting and unnatural.

There it is--that’s the word. **_Unnatural._ ** Being apart from you, keeping this horrid secret and hearing about you self destructing in my absence is _unnatural_. No, worse than that. It’s abhorrent, an abomination. _Unforgivable._ This entire situation is completely, irrevocably unforgivable and while I logically know that it is Moriarty’s fault, that he created this situation...I blame myself too. I played the game with him. I got too close. And now... _now_.

John, I’m coming for you. You may not want me anymore. You may not forgive me. You may hate me, push me away, tell me to leave.

I’ll leave, but...I’ll _never leave you, John_. Never again. I am yours to have when and if you want me and I will never do such an unforgivable thing again. I promise. I will always be with you, and I will always protect you.

I’m coming home. Please wait for me.

Always,

Sherlock


	13. Mike, Charles, Molly: 25-27/1/2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was added after the next chapter was posted. Apologies for any confusion. Had some plot stuff occur in my head that needed some fleshing out via letters and I didn't want to break the timeline/chronological order of things.

25 January 2012

Mike,

Much as it pains me to say it, you have a point. I will refrain from acting and will await your instruction. I suppose sentiment does affect me from time to time.

-Bill

* * *

25 January 2012

Bill,

Knew you’d see it my way, eventually. You know I care about your opinion, but sentiment does make each of us compromised. As I am ever concerned, I felt it was important to help you see it. I will keep you informed of the situation.

-M

* * *

25 January 2012

Charles,

Let me know if he does anything out of the ordinary. He told me he won’t, but I know better than to believe him. Addicts are fantastic liars.

-M

* * *

26 January 2012

Molly,

I need your help. I will call you the _day_ _we met._ The day at the morgue. The day my life changed. I am sorry to need you like this again, but...please. Do this for me, Molly. Be ready.

Sincerely,

-S

* * *

27 January 2012

S,

Of course. Whatever you need. I’m here to help. Does ~~your brother~~ M know? Should I do anything to make sure that everything is okay? Tell me what to do. I just...he’s wrong. He’s just wrong to keep you out of this. My number is the same. Call me. I’ll be ready.

Always,

Molly


	14. Sherlock, I: 30/1/12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter was added before this one after this one was posted. Sorry! I mixed up a timeline. Please make sure you read 13 if you haven't already.

****30 January 2012

~~Sherlock, I~~

~~Dear~~

~~I can’t believe I thought~~

Everything hurts, Sherlock.

Once, you said to me bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a “much more vicious motivator,” you said. Thought you were daft. Didn’t make sense at all. Lots of people do crazy things when they’re angry.

~~After you~~

I was bitter. I was paralyzed.

Until I realized I was using my rage as an excuse. It was...protective? I was hiding in it. I guess deep down inside, I...I knew. So I hid, like the coward I am.

Have I always known?

You must have known. You know everything. You read it right away. Must’ve. _Right_. Was it funny to you? Probably.

Guess it took your death for me to realize it for myself. Maybe you thought I knew. You made that face at me so many times. You know the one. The one I find annoying because it makes me feel so fucking slow. You knew, and I didn’t. _Again_. God I hate you for that. Why didn’t you tell me? ~~Maybe we could have~~ Stupid. I’m stupid.

You’re dead, and this is _still_ difficult for me. If I write it, does that make it real? You aren’t even going to read it. Maybe I’m not ready to admit it. Maybe...I think I’m afraid of what it means.

The therapist I’m seeing here said it’s okay to need time with it. She knew, too. The moment Molly told them what happened, and about you, and how she found me...I have a feeling Mycroft isn’t going to let me be near a gun after that. Bugger.

~~God. **Molly.** Can’t believe I put her through this. She doesn’t deserve this. Deserves better people in her life than those of us who give up. Or try to give up, anyway. You’re better at that than me, too. Can’t say I’m surprised. ~~

Wait, no. That’s the type of stuff the therapist says makes my depression worse. She said if I have any hope of leaving this place I have to stop talking like that. Told me to _catch it and change it_ which sounds like a load of bollocks if you ask me. Gotta stop thinking I’m a burden on everyone, she says. I do want to leave at some point though. In this instance, hospital and prison are basically the same thing.

Was I? Was I a burden for you? You never really seemed to mind even if I was. Never said anything, anyway. Tolerated me, I guess. Like a pet, Moriarty said. He wasn't wrong.

Anyway, time for group. Looks like I’m not the only batshit grief-stricken bloke there is. Is that good? I dunno.

I’ll write more later.

\--John

 


	15. M, Boss: 30/1/2012

30 January 2012

M,

Surveillance indicates no activity. If anything changes I’ll be sure to let you know.

-Charles

* * *

30 January 2012

Boss,

Blimey.  _ You were right. _ He spoke to that lady doc, and now he’s headed back. How did Jim know? We lost a proper genius on that rooftop, we did.  ~~ Not that you’re ~~ You’re doing fine, though.

He’s alive, anyway.  **Sherlock Holmes is alive.** And he’s coming back to London. Get ready! Looks like we’re gonna win after all, just like Jim said. He’s gonna do flips in his grave once they meet in hell. I can’t wait to see the look of bloody shock on his face when he realizes how badly he fucked up, messing with us like this. And that poncy, arsehole brother of his--once baby bro is gone, he’ll be done for. 

I’m following his movements. I’ll send updates as needed. I would guess it’ll take...oh probably about two weeks for him to make it back there. He’s got limited funds and is trying to hide from his brother, so he’s being careful. 

By the way, you owe me my last paycheck. 

-Charles

 


	16. Dear Sherlock: 2/2/2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning again. Be careful! <3

2 February 12

Dear Sherlock,

Everything still hurts. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve only been here for two weeks. Two weeks. **Two. Weeks.** **_God_** **.**

Today, the bit of me that hurts the most is my chest. Right behind my sternum, to be exact. It feels like an injured, fluttering bird that’s trying to escape. At the same time, it’s like there’s a vice, a steel trap around it that makes it impossible to breathe. I’m, well, scared, to be honest. I’m scared that if I let it free, if I try to release it, if I try to let it go, I’ll…

Well, I’ll be lost. Once I let it go, that’ll be it. I’ll lose control. I’ll be forced to feel and feel and I just don’t think I’m strong enough for that. I’ll fold in on myself like a dying star, collapsing before finally disappearing forever. (Stars do that sometimes, by the way. I know you don’t care.)

Ever felt like that? No, I suppose not. You don’t feel things like that, I don’t think. You’re never lost. You always know exactly _where_ you are and _what_ you’re doing and how to be _you_.

I don’t know how to be me anymore. When I met you, I felt lost like this. And then you, well, _you_. You helped me find myself again. Helped me be _me._  I felt like myself again. **I had a purpose**. And then you...well, you died. You died and left me here to fend for myself.

I’m angry. I’m so bloody angry at you and I hate that I can’t tell you off the way I want to. I want to scream at you, to rant and point and pace around and yell. I want to shake my fist and look up at the ceiling in aggravation while you blink at me and make _that face_. The _I don’t understand_ face. The _really John? You’re really this upset?_ face. The one that shows me how really ignorant you are about humans and emotions. You just don’t get it, do you? Did you get it when you jumped off Barts? Did you know how much _you killed me_ when you killed yourself?

I know the answer. You wouldn’t have done it if you knew.

The therapist here asked me if I love you. Love, Sherlock. Present tense. She knows you’re dead. She knows I can’t even tell you. ~~Can’t even find out if you love me back.~~

I keep telling her that I **am** feeling better. Thankfully she doesn’t look at these bloody things, then she’d know the truth. _I’m not getting better, Sherlock._ I don’t think there’s any coming back from this. I’ll get out of here and...well. That’ll be it.

You visited me today, by the way.

I hated it. Don’t do it again. If I forget that you’re dead, if I talk to you or...just don’t. Don’t do it again or they won’t let me out. Please, Sherlock. _Please_ , for me. Just don’t.

Write later. Ta.

-John


	17. Dear John: 3/2/2012

3 February 2012

Dear John,

How are you? Well, I hope. I know this is a tough time right now, but you’re strong. You’ve always been so strong, and I just know you can handle this. I hope that you’re getting the help you need right now. I would love to come visit you, if that’s okay. When I called the other day, the nurses said that you were allowed visitors now that you’re medically stable.

I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry that I didn’t help more, that I didn’t come around more to check on you. With everything that’s happened, I just didn’t know how I could help, I guess. I figured you might ask me if you needed something, anyway. I am sorry, though. I know you probably took this the hardest. You probably needed the most support and were the least likely to ask for it. I won’t be making that mistake again, that’s for sure. I want to help, John. Please let me help.

I know it’s hard, but, have hope, John. It’s going to get better. A lot better, I think. You’re going to get out of there and it’s going to be so much better. Trust me on this. Very soon after you get out of there things will be  _ so much better. _

Please write me back and let me know how you’re doing. I care about you, John. And I’m not the only one, you know.

With love,

Molly


	18. Dear Sherlock: 4/2/12

4 February 2012

Dear Sherlock,

Being in here is bloody awful. It’s impossible to get decent sleep, especially being on fifteen minute safety checks. The food is simple, and passable, but getting old. And there isn’t much to do, you know. At least not much that they’ll let me do. _Dull_ , you’d say. I can’t imagine you being in a place like this. You’d crawl out of your skin and drive everyone else batty before they finally just kicked you out for being a nuisance. I could almost laugh at the thought.

I want to go home.

You keep following me around. At first I was angry at you, angry at myself, angry at my stupid subconscious for making me see you constantly, but now...it’s somewhat comforting. Is that normal? You’re dead. I shouldn’t see you all the time. You stand over me while I sleep, you walk around the groups I go to, you stare at me while I sit alone in my room. Not much different than how it was when you were alive.

Why, Sherlock?

Why are you here?

You’re not a ghost. Right? There are no ghosts. _It’s never twins, and there_ ** _are_** **_no ghosts._** I can almost hear you say it. Maybe I _am_ hearing you say it. I can’t tell anymore. Does it even matter?

I’m just so tired of it all. I guess..well I guess if you’re going to be here I may as well just accept it. I have you back. You’re back. Right? ~~Of course, you aren’t~~

It’s not the same. I know it’s not the same.

It’s okay though. It’s something, anyway.

Nurse is here with night meds. Lights out in ten.

Good night, Sherlock.

-John

 

P.S. Molly wrote to me. Told me to have hope. I wanted to rip up her letter. Hope? She wants to visit. Don’t think I can manage it, so I’ll tell her I’m good but don’t come. She sees too much, and I don’t want her to see _this_.

 


	19. Dear Molly: 5/2/12

5 February 2012

Dear Molly,

Thank you for your letter. And thank you for helping me as much as you have.

Things are going okay in here. Not my favourite place, to be fair, but it’s okay. Helping, I think. I think, yeah.

I don’t think I’m ready to have a visitor. I know they said it’s fine, but I just need to focus on me right now and I’m a bit embarrassed about this whole thing, to be honest.

 

But I’m good. Thanks for asking. I’ll keep what you said in mind.

 

Sincerely,

John


	20. Dear Sherlock: 8/2/12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning.  
> Generally speaking John's letters are rough.  
> 

8 February 2012

Dear Sherlock,

I’m not really sure why I write these anymore. I don’t know if Ella even knows I’m in here, and the therapists here don’t know that I’m doing this. I don’t want them to know. Every time I feel like writing to you, I feel a little more crazy. If I know I’m crazy, am I _actually_ crazy? Do crazy people know they’re crazy? There was a book...Catch 22. That’s what it was. If you say you’re crazy then you can’t possibly be crazy, so you can’t leave the military that way. If you say nothing, then you’re fine, so you also can’t leave. Am I trapped like that? I’m probably not crazy. Am I? Who bloody knows anymore. All I know is that I want to leave, and if I tell them what I’m doing, I don’t think they’ll ever let me. _Oh, you’re writing to your dead flatmate? Fantastic. Let me just go let the psychiatrist know so she signs the life commitment orders, mate._ I’m good, thanks. Yeah. I’m good. Not crazy, then.

Today we had a group on boundaries. The therapist was talking about how important they are, how we have to make sure we protect ourselves and yet be flexible enough to allow people in, to get close to people and have relationships. Be vulnerable, in a _healthy_ way. I never let anyone in before you, you know. I couldn’t. I was totally shut off from the world, and that was fine. _Easier._  I felt safe in there, alone. As you’ve said, it protected me, being alone.

Funny, how when you said that to me, _alone is what I have, alone protects me_ , I immediately argued. No, Sherlock. _Friends_ protect you. **Friends**. They love you and they protect you. I should have realized...No, Sherlock. **I protect you. I love you and I protect you.** And yet you had to go and do this to me. If I had said it out loud, would you have...maybe you would have…

Fuck. I just

I miss you. I really, really miss you and I’m sorry, I’m sorry...I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. _I didn’t know._ I just...you went it alone and I had no idea. I called you a machine, Sherlock. I told you that you were wrong, that you didn’t have any feelings, that...I was so angry. You were shutting me out and I could feel it. I let you in, Sherlock. I let you into who I am, and you came in and changed everything about me. You changed me and you saved me from being alone, from being me, ~~and I just don’t think I can~~

You spoke today. Told me...told me you...I can’t write it down right now. Maybe later. **Goddammit**. I think...I think the psychiatrist knows that I can see you sometimes. I didn’t tell anyone. But you followed me to my appointment, you were in the room, and _you look real_...you stood behind her and watched and scrutinized (like you always do) and you just _look so bloody real_. You look so real and I couldn’t help but stare. _I think she saw me staring_. I think she knows. She gave me a new med to take. She said she was happy with my progress but she was concerned that maybe I’m still struggling with my thoughts, so she gave me something new. I recognized the name--it’s an antipsychotic.

She thinks I’m crazy. I’m not crazy, right? And if I take it, you’ll go away. _You’ll leave me again._

I’m not risking it. I can fake it. I’ve been such a good patient so far that they aren’t really watching me anymore. They’ll never know, and you’ll never leave me again. Never. _Never._

If this is how it’s going to end, let it end _this way._ **_My way._** At least I’ll feel less alone.

Please don’t leave me. _I_ **_need_ ** _you._

-John

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. :X


	21. Dear John: 8/2/2012

8 February 2012

Dear John,

You know I am always happy to help in _any way I can_. **_Any way, John._** I have known Sherlock for a long time, and you ~~are~~ were very important to him, so anything I can do to help, I’ll do it. 

Do you know when you’re getting out of there? We should get together once you’re feeling a bit more like yourself. It’d be nice.

I’ve been checking your post for you, by the way. I knew you probably didn’t want things getting sent back. I have a key still so I’ve been leaving it on the kitchen table. Once I know you’re home I can bring the key back. 

I mean it when I say that I  _ know _ things will be better soon. Sooner than you might think. Keep hope, John.

With Love,

Molly


	22. 9/2/2012

9 February 2012

Charles,

The amount of time between your reports is unacceptable. I require an update immediately. With details.

-M

* * *

 9 February 2012

Mycroft Holmes,

I take great joy in writing this letter to you. You see, I happen to be a colleague of someone that you used to know, someone that you used to deal with on a fairly regular basis. Someone that you sold your own brother out to in exchange for information about the rest of us. You know who, Mr. Holmes. _You know who_.

I have to say, I was duped, like many others, into believing that Sherlock Holmes died that day on the ground in front of Barts hospital in London. Now, our mutual friend had assured me that it was likely that your beloved baby brother would find a way out of our little trap, but I believed it when he fell and smashed his head all over the concrete. I believed it when Mr. Watson collapsed, grief stricken and in shock, staining his trousers in Sherlock’s blood. I believed it.

That is, until recently. That is, until I was informed by a little bird that, in fact, Sherlock Holmes is not dead. He is as alive as he ever has been, and he is headed back towards London to save the love of his life from none other than himself.

He’s nearly here, actually. He’s nearly home.  Bet you didn’t know that, did you, Mr. Holmes?

First he tricked us; now he’s tricked you.

It’s our turn, Mr. Holmes. Our turn to win the game.

You ought to screen your employees a bit better.

* * *

 9 February 2012

S,

Call me immediately. This is a matter of life and death. I mean it. Call me.

-M

* * *

9 February 2012

Hi Harry,

Sorry for the fright. I’m feeling much better. The psychiatrist said I can discharge tomorrow. Would you be able to come pick me up and bring me back to my flat? Don’t worry--Mycroft took my gun. I have all sorts of appointments scheduled, and I think Molly dumped all my alcohol. If she didn’t, I’ll do it myself. I’m good now. Fine, yeah. Good. Everything is good.

They want me to go to some partial hospital program starting next week. Supposed to help me continue feeling better. I don’t need a ride or anything, just to list you as my emergency contact. I’ve put Molly through enough by now.

So, tomorrow at 10:00, I should be ready. I get my mobile back at 9, I’ll call you to make sure you’re coming.

Thanks,

John


	23. Discharge Instructions: 10/2/2012

**Name: John Watson**

**DOB: 20/4/1969**

**ADM: 17/1/2012   DC: 10/2/2012**

**Discharge Instructions**

**You are being discharged after completing treatment for the following conditions:**

  * F33.3 Major Depressive Disorder, recurrent, with psychotic features
  * F10.20 Alcohol Use Disorder, Severe
  * Z63.4 Bereavement (uncomplicated)



**You have been prescribed the following psychiatric medications during your admission:**

  * Lithium Carbonate 450mg--Take one tablet by mouth twice per day (depression)
  * Latuda 60mg--Take one tablet by mouth once per day with at least 300 calories of food (mood and psychosis)
  * Naltrexone 50mg--Take one tablet by mouth once per day (alcohol use disorder)



**Take all medications as prescribed. If you have questions, feel free to call the hospital or ask your pharmacist for clarification.**

**It is recommended that you attend all follow-up appointments scheduled for you.**

You are scheduled to begin Partial Hospitalization Program on: 12 February 2012 at 9:00am

**Please bring your insurance cards and ID, along with any prescribed medications, to your intake appointment.**

Therapist: Ella Thompson Next appointment: 12 February 2012 at 4:00pm

Please schedule a follow-up appointment with your GP within 2 weeks of discharge.

Attached is a list of local resources for bereavement support, addiction support, and general mental health support.

If you start feeling worse, please follow your **safety plan** or go to your nearest **emergency room**.

**Life Safety Plan**

**The Things that are Most Important to Me and Worth Living for are:**

  * Being a GP
  * My friends



**Triggers and Warning Signs of a Developing Crisis: (thoughts, moods, situations, and behaviors)**

  * If I start drinking again      
  * Thinking life is a waste of time or I have no purpose      
  * Thinking too much about Sherlock



**What I currently do to Take My Mind Off My Problems: (relaxation techniques, exercise, etc.)**

  * Taking walks      
  * Writing in my blog



**People and Social Settings that Provide Positive Distraction for me:**

  * Greg Lestrade
  * Mike Stamford



**People To Whom I turn For Help:**

  * Molly Hooper    Phone: 020 7113 4726
  * Mrs. HudsonPhone: 020 7880 6698



**Professionals or Agencies I Can Contact During a Crisis:**

My Therapist: Ella Thompson at 020 7236 8923

Suicide Prevention Helpline: 8457 90 90 90               Legal Advice Helpline: 0345 345 4 345

Credit Counseling Helpline: 0800 138 1111               Medical Advice Helpline: 111

Sexual Assault Helpline:  0808 802 9999                  Addiction Helpline: 0300 999 1212

Gambling Helpline:  0808 8020 133                         Grief Helpline: 0800 435 455

**Things I Can Do to Make My Environment Safe:**

  * No weapons   
  * No alcohol  
  * No pictures of Sherlock   



**If All Else Fails:**

Hospital Emergency Room Closest to My Home: St. Bartholomew’s Hospital

I Can Call 999 or 112 to Request Transportation if I’m Unable to Get There on My Own

**By signing below, I attest that my discharge was explained to me and I participated in the completion of this safety plan. I also attest that I understand my instructions and had the opportunity to ask questions.**

Person’s Signature/Date:  John H. Watson 10/2/2012 

Attending Psychiatrist/Date:  Elizabeth Grey, MD 10-2-12 


	24. Dear Sherlock: 10/2/12

10 February 2012

Dear Sherlock,

Why do I even bother? She never responds. Never there when I need her. Barely an acquaintance at this point. _Barely_. Maybe she’s not even related to me? I bet she was adopted. No, she drinks and looks just like my father. Has to be related, I guess. Bugger.

I’m home. Took a cab. _We_ took a cab. Bit weird, being outside again. The sun makes your skin glow, a bit. Like a ghost. Or like those vampires in that book. Are you a vampire? No, you’re just you. The you from my brain. Not you, then. A fake you. A fake you is better than a dead you, I suppose. Is it? Dead you wouldn’t be here with me, watching me write and correcting my grammar. Shut it, fake you. It’s a letter. Grammar doesn’t matter. Grammar is for grammar school anyway, that’s why it’s called that. I’m an adult, I can write how I like.

And, you never write, so how do you even know? Alive you would watch me write, though. I remember your breath on my neck while you read over my shoulder, hair tickling my ear. Muttered corrections, huffs of annoyance, sighs of exasperation filling my head. Distracting. Very distracting. I made more mistakes when you were that close to me. I should have known, then. Should have realized. Was too busy trying to be _not gay_ and trying to ignore _you_ , Mr. Gorgeous and Brilliant **_But_ ** Married to My Work Holmes. Fucking **hell**.

You _knew_. You knew I was trying so bloody hard and yet you kept being _you_. Did you know? I think you did. You kept me around. Must have felt sorry for me. Maybe the suicide was an easy way out of a relationship you didn’t want.

Why are you here now, then? Why haunt me now?

No, _not_ a ghost. Not a vampire, or a ghost. _No ghosts._ There are _no_ ghosts. It’s never twins and there are no ghosts. What are you? You’re fake. You’re the fake you. The fake you from my mind because you can’t be dead to me. _You can’t._ Don’t be dead, Sherlock. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. **Don’t be dead.**

Please keep talking to me. Your voice helps me sleep.

-John


	25. Dear Sherlock: 13/2/12

13 February 2012

Dear Sherlock,

Because I am John Hamish Watson, formerly Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, I went to the Partial Hospitalization Program that the hospital set up for me. Supposed to be a “step-down” to continue helping me learn how to live my life now that…

Anyway. **I went.** Had to answer the same bloody questions all over again. Have I ever been depressed? How often do I have panic attacks? And what about the drinking, how long have I been sober?

Not long enough for it to count.

Too long to feel okay.

You came with me, scoffed at the clinician who did the intake, telling me how she needs to get over her own depression and drinking before she ought to tell me to do it. You stood in the back of the group therapy room, glaring at the rest of us and rolling your eyes as we made our way through the day. It wasn’t all bad, I suppose. The art therapy though. _Honestly_ , you said. _They can deduce what’s happening in your brain because you did a doodle? Evidence. Data. Sounds circumstantial and not at all reliable or valid. Subjective. Hardly scientific. Pathetic_ , you groaned, doing your walk around the room to stare at everyone. Your special walk, your _Sherlock_ walk. The one where you figure everything out about everyone in the room and then huff in annoyance about it to yourself while the rest of us stand confused and watch the show.

Dramatics. It’s always about dramatics with you.

Even your ~~suic~~ ...well. Hm. **Dramatic.**

Home, now. _Obviously,_ you say. Even the fake you that I made up to ~~make me feel less alone~~ keep me company is an arrogant git.

I love it.

I hate it.

You. _You._

Don’t think I’ll be going back tomorrow. Group included “coping skills” to help us...what? **_Cope?_ ** How can I possibly cope? I can’t. I can’t do it. It’s not okay. _None of this is okay._ I’m not okay. You’re definitely not okay. None of it is okay, and I can’t cope. **I can’t.** This is why I gave up. I gave up so I wouldn’t have to fucking TRY so hard anymore. Try to survive. Try to cope. Bullshit. **It’s all bullshit.**

Also, the psychiatrist here is just as annoying and pompous as the one at the crazy house. Whatever, prat. Get off your high fucking horse. You don’t _know_ me.

I’m done. What’s the point? **Done.**

 _Don’t give up_ , you say to me. You look...concerned.

Now I know I’m crazy.

Bloody hell I want a drink.

Good night, Sherlock.

~~I~~

~~I need~~

~~I’m just~~

~~I should have~~

**I love you.**

I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.

Good night.

-John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I am a mental health/addiction therapist _in real life_ **in** a partial hospital program (psychiatric day treatment consisting of group therapy for acute episodes of mental instability and early recovery from addiction post detox, medication management, stabilization of symptoms via coping skills for distress/mood/etc, and individualized case management) and I have a wonderful, super talented art therapist who works with me. I **100%** believe in what we do and have personally seen the positive benefits of art therapy as well as psychiatry, group therapy, etc. 
> 
> That being said: Sherlock definitely wouldn't get it and John isn't quite right at the mo, so he isn't going to get it either.
> 
> Silly boys.


	26. PHP Ancillary Phone Contact Note: 14-15/2/2012

**Name:** John Watson

**DOB:** 20/4/1969

**ADM:** 13/2/2012

**Ancillary Phone Contact Note**

14 February 2012

Called patient regarding absence. Left message on machine requesting phone call back. Called emergency contact. Number not in service. Consulted with Director of program; decision was made to call emergency services if no contact with patient by end of hour.

-J.E. LMHC

* * *

14 Februrary 2012

Patient called to inform staff that he isn’t feeling well today. Patient contracted for safety. Discussed importance of daily attendance. Patient reported he understood and would attend tomorrow. Requested alternate phone number for emergency contact. Patient reported he would bring it to program tomorrow.

-J.E. LMHC

* * *

15 February 2012

Called patient regarding absence. Patient answered and reported he was still feeling ill. Encouraged patient to see his GP. Discussed patient’s safety plan. Patient contracted for safety. Patient reported he would go see his GP and understood the importance of calling if he would be absent again. Reviewed attendance requirements for program. Patient reported he understood. Patient stated he would call if he would be absent tomorrow.

-J.E. LMHC

* * *

15 February 2012

Patient called and left message on program machine stating he was discharging himself due to being ill and unable to meet attendance requirements. Patient reported he was safe and had social supports in place. Patient reported he had follow-up appointment scheduled with his individual therapist for the following week. Called patient and left message on machine informing him that he could call and request re-evaluation and readmission when he was feeling better if he still felt he needed it. Informed program Director of discharge due to illness.

-J.E. LMHC


	27. Dear Sherlock: 15/2/2012

15 February 2012

Dear Sherlock,

They wouldn’t stop calling me, those therapists at the program. Couldn’t go back. Too many eyes on me. Too many people. Too many people with too many eyes. They would have found out about you. Did you know they make antipsychotics that are injectable now, for people who won’t take their medication?

 _Like_ **_me_** _._

I can’t. _Can’t do it._ Can’t kill you all over again. **I just** **_can’t_** **.**

Told them I was ill. They believed me. As long as I promised not to hurt myself, they’d leave me alone. Well, that’s what they said. Don’t trust it, though. They know where I live. They have my information. Surprised I haven’t heard from Mycroft. He probably contacted them, told them about me. Maybe he read their files. He does that, you know. He told me that when he first met me, told me about my shite therapist and how she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Still seeing her. Still doesn’t know what she’s doing. Neither do I, so what does it matter?

You stared at me while I talked to them, lied to them. You’re always _staring_ at me, _staring_ , _staring,_ **_staring_** **_at me_** and pleading with me.

_Be safe for me._

_Live for me._

It’s bloody hard, you know that? You didn’t do it _for me,_ Sherlock. Why couldn’t you do it for me? Why couldn’t you be _safe_ for me, **_live_** _for me_?

I don’t know if I can live for you much longer.

Molly called me. I didn’t answer. I’ll text her later so she doesn’t worry. No one needs to worry about me. No one _should_ worry about me. I think you did, sometimes, before. You would yell for me. _The way you yelled for me,_ it sounded so. **Something.** _Real_. It was real and it was deep, thick, full of...full of…

You needed me. You **_needed_ ** me, I think.

Yeah. You did. You needed me and I needed you. _Need_ you. I _need_ you, still. You’re _dead_ so you can’t possibly need me now, but _you did_ , then. **You did.**

You were never a machine, not really. You hid behind that lie, hid behind it so you could stay away from the pain of reality. The pain of life, of being different, being alone, of being _you_ . You loved being you and still you hated it. You hated how others treated you. Hell, I hated how others treated you. Like you were a freak, a monster. Something to be afraid of. You always acted like it didn’t matter. **Of course it matters, you twit. Of** **_course it does._ **

Fuck, Sherlock. **Fuck**. _I can’t._

Didn’t bother filling my scripts. You glared at me while I chucked them in the bin. It’s getting annoying, this fake you that acts like you care. Maybe I’ll call Greg to go out for a pint on Friday. Maybe a few drinks will give me a break from your harsh looks and falsely caring comments.

I know I shouldn’t drink, and I really couldn’t be bothered at the mo, thanks.

How do I both hate you and love you at the same time?

Maybe I do want my meds. I don’t know. I don’t care.

Crap telly it is, then. Come make annoyed comments about it to me. Come sit with me with your knees drawn up and yell and shake your hands at them and ignore my offered popcorn and throw your head back to stare at the ceiling and deduce the advert directors for me. Come with me, Sherlock.

-John


	28. Boss: 16-17/2/2012

16 February 2012

Boss,

In London. Been following Watson. He doesn’t really go out much. Planted a microphone in his flat--he talks constantly. No one else is there, boss. He’s talking to Sherlock Holmes, but Holmes is definitely not there yet. Doesn’t look like he’s on a phone, he keeps just pacing around his flat talking to empty rooms. Fucking weird.

He hasn’t had much contact with anyone except that DI that Holmes used to work with--Lestrade. He called him and they talked about going out to the pub tomorrow night--Friday the 17th.

My contact that’s tailing Holmes seems to think he might get back late Friday or early Saturday. 

Orders?

-Charles

* * *

17 February 2012

Charles,

Perfect timing. Arrange for a pickup. Make sure you leave a note at Watson’s flat for Holmes. He’ll find it. He always does. Be discreet--don’t alert the DI at all. Wait until they’re done for the night. By that point Watson should be easy to grab. Plant someone in the pub tonight to  _ adjust _ his drinks just to be sure. I’ve had run-ins with him before--he’s a fighter. We need to take extra precautions.

Bring him to the warehouse. Holmes will follow.  _ I’ll be waiting. _

 


	29. Number Not In Service

**> >Contacts**

**> >Bill Scott**

**> >Calling…**

_ The number you are trying to reach is not in service. Please leave a message after the tone. _

“Call me, Sherlock. This isn’t a game, dammit! You know I’m taking great risk by calling you--have some decency and answer! Or, if you must,  _ text _ me, although I prefer to hear your voice, brother mine.  _ Please. _ ”

**> >End Call**


	30. Text Alert: 17/2/12

**> >Text alert: 17/2/12**

**< Molly Hooper>**

**5:47pm:** Hi John! How are you?

**6:15pm:** Heard you got home about a week ago. How’s the adjustment going? :)

**< John Watson>**

**6:20pm:** Hi Molly. Good. Things are going good for us.

**< Molly Hooper>**

**6:21pm:** Us?

**< John Watson>**

**6:22pm:** Bugger, sorry. Typo. Me.

**6:23pm:** Going good for me.

**6:24pm:** How are you?

**< Molly Hooper>**

**6:24pm:** Great, thanks for asking. :-) How’s the new program?

**6:26pm:** If you’re busy right now, it’s okay.

**< John Watson>**

**6:30pm:** No, just getting ready to go out with Greg. Program is fine, thanks.

**< Molly Hooper>**

**6:30pm:** Out with Greg? Lestrade?

**< John Watson>**

**6:35pm:** Yeah. Just to talk. Catch up. Haven’t seen him since.

**< Molly Hooper>**

**6:37pm:** Where are you guys going out?

**< John Watson>**

**6:38pm:** Not sure yet.

**< Molly Hooper>**

**6:39pm:** Ok. Hey I was wondering if we could meet up tomorrow maybe? In Lauriston Gardens? I, uh, I have something I need to show you.

**< John Watson>**

**6:45pm:** What do you mean?

**< Molly Hooper>**

**6:45pm:** It’s about Sherlock, John.

**6:49pm:** John?

**< John Watson>**

**6:50pm:** Sorry, headed out. Mobile’s dying, leaving it home. Talk to you later.

**< Molly Hooper>**

**6:53pm:** Oh, ok. John, please call me tomorrow. This is important. Have fun tonight, be careful.

**< John Watson>**

**6:57pm:** Sure. Bye.


	31. Mr. Holmes: 18/2/12

18 FeB 2012

 

**mR HOlmEs**

 

We HavE **JoHN wATSoN**

 

iF yoU WAnT Him AliVe

 

ComE tO THE **SWeeTs wAReHoUsE**

 

WHerE yOu FOuNd the ChiLDReN

 

 **toDAy** @ MidNiGHt

 

aLone ANd UNArmEd

 

No PoLiCe

 

NO biG BroTHeR

 

_to be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends part 1 of the Nodus Tollens series!
> 
> Part 2 is going to be a different format--it will include actual narrative, dialogue, etc. Lots of POV switching to provide multiple views (much like part 1).
> 
> THANK YOU to all my supporters/readers/fan. **PLEASE** leave kudos/comments, they are much appreciated it!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: Arcwin1 or Haveanaffairwithme
> 
> Check out my other works (which are much less angsty than this one). <3
> 
> Thank you, as always, to my Beta_Jawn, who has cried right along with me throughout this feels-fest. <3


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